Cainianity

Feminist? Festivus.

She asked, "what do you want for diner?"

He won his first and only prize because dinner was reverent. The mere mention now sends chaos shots fired into the dark of his brain. Creation's radiation washed over him.  Now awake in the swirling and ripping ripples of starry ancient winds, sucking his chaotic thoughts into the burning twister of time-space.

A messenger dust body sent to vacuum up remaining fragments of true beauty and extol the refuse of linear time and space was now imbibing him.  Life giving liquid flashed before his heart and splashed off cardio-tendrils into the polluted innards of his host body - a trashy beach on Sagan's cosmic shore.

Like mythical Halcyon hovering at the crossroads of reliable forest and unpredictable sea, and some eons later that cross-dressing midwife Agnodice of Greece, he felt the female spirit rise up to service him from within, causing survival messengers to grow just and fair in his holy handed-heart.

Still,  only fragments of reality dotted his land from time to time like artifacts under sediment or lights over phoenix and under classified stamps.  The hold-outs from the last "great war" of his time needed a trampoline made of spam to touch star dust. It all stayed botched without femininity, somehow incomplete.

And where the rise of clitoral underdevelopment expanded the minds of worthwhile men, always stood a hold-out, complete with Dino DNA and double barrel scotch - playing the fool for the body of knowledge.

Forever pushing upon a force, there remains another force,  until universal-scaled conflict redefines what we have become and are to become.   And in fact, what is to become of us? And why does this man care?

Is he not sipping his spirits on indigo pools of the finest, aged to perfection sand? Who among him could believe that such death could carry his sack of rotting calcium deposits into the conscious dark matter that binds all in a see-through future perception reception of reality.

He'll not write an invitation to a future party like Steven Hawking, but rather join her in singing "turnstile blues" in line at Whole Foods as they both plan the immediate future, reusable bag, Burberry and Barbour, gluten-free tofu play-dough unborn daughter, Catskill trout and arguments over all-purpose Shout and endless plotting toward the immediate future with so little at stake, except steak.

The leather jacket with the tassels please

Things I learned from Fire Down Below: 

1. Steven Segal helps Harry Dean Stanton remove Kris Kristofferson's "toxic wastes" from Levon Helm's Appalachian Mennonite community
2. After the 3rd Leather Trench Coat is acquired, bolo tie not necessary
3. PB & J w/ Spam is Steven Segal's favorite sandwich
4. This movie is so good it inspired the movie Radical Jack staring Billy Ray Cirus
5. Sell all your honey and accept rides from the man with the leather jacket and the big red truck
6.  "The trouble with rich people is that sometimes they don't care about........others"
7. Budget = $60 million

• $55,000,000 (Segal)
• $1,000,000 (Levon Helm)
• $35,000 (Kristofferson)
• $3,965,000 (rights to Jimi Hendrix's "Little Wing")

The Flagshit of God-Fiction

The Mark (2012)

Directed By: James Chankin

Written By: Paul Duran, Leland Jourdan & John Patus

Produced By: James Chankin

Starring: Craig Sheffer, Eric Roberts & Gary Daniels

Rating: 0 out 5 Stars

The Testimony of Chad (Part 2 of 3: Chest-deep in the Trinity Myth)

Fuck!!!...my "Mark of the Beast" tattoo really itches…I know being a Hollywood actor is tough, but do I really HAVE to be the Devil’s man and attempt to kill Jesus Christ and cook him…"all trussed up like a pig on a spit!"…eating his flesh for sustenance.  For now, I will use my mad iMac remote skills to ensure that ALL the rich white people will be spared from the Rapture while I, with the help of my inter-racial lover, make like Robert Neville, and kill every last vampire and zombie on the Godless Earth to ensure a new chapter in unnatural, prolonged human survival.  It’s called Hell on Earth and it’s a warning to you, my unmarried Godless friends, that the Rapture is eminent, unless you leave the rich Christian white alone to interbreed a race of mayonnaise-tinted, Megalomaniacs that travel first class.

The Testimony of a non-faith-based viewer (Part 1 of 1: Activate Jammer!)

Personally, I like my God-Fiction with the best possible use of a Friends Church Multi-Purpose Room...something like the Passenger Cabin of an Airplane…so naturally, this movie has blessed me with many gifts.  At least they converted the Bathroom to the Airplane’s Cock-pit (the greatest single achievement of this film). Beyond that, I’m at a loss…Jeff Fahey’s chest-hair is this movie’s equivalent of The Ring of Power.

Long live Gary Daniels and Eric Roberts, who marginalize themselves in Society as "B- Actors" (even sometimes as twin False Prophet’s), revealing the Truth to those who look with open eyes.  The Truth that Christians, like all dogmatic groups, are kept afloat by “business men, not suicide bombers” (Subtext: business men, not Muslims).

A couple more things I learned from The Mark:

-When 10’s of thousands of people are missing, many of them are bound to be children.

-Butt sex is ok as long as it’s a Mexican (posing as a Redneck) ramming a Wannabe British Stripper (posing as a slutty Thai Stewardess) while the pair enjoys a 2-hour parachute decent to “Hell” (on Earth)

-The Mark aka Global Socialism Multi-Purpose Room Flight Simulator aka The Hand-Job Center: Home of the Dirty Foreigners aka The Long Overdo Rape of James Dobson

Attn: Scheer, Mantzoukas, & Diane Raphael

Gary Busey is a corrupt billionaire who dies and goes to purgatory where the angels send him back to Earth as a Pomeranian contracted to do good deads before he can get into heaven.

And now for the DVD bonus feature interview with Mr. Busey explaining the movie Quigley in his own words, detailing all its rich themes, its endless target audience and the similarities between "Gary Busey the man" and "Gary Busey the Pomeranian Purgatory Pup"

Now I realize that 1) HTGM doesn't really care to ponder the production intricacies of movies that really pale in comparison to greater conundrums, 2) the half ass formatting and design of my blog and blog entries pale greatly in comparison to even the most laughable depths of global blogging, and 3) ahhhh what the Hell...you guys heard me at Bell House loud and clear...Connie Nielsen is Danish, not Dutch!  The waking world needs more Gary Busey...hence why myself along with 3 friends silk-screened an outline of Gary Busey's cigar-smoking face on T-shirts 12 years ago in High School and proudly strutted the Southern California open-air halls adored with the face of a hero!

nation stands against him, he's your brother

hope my friend gets me this for Christmas

Message from the Baptismal Abyss

Whatever the smooth

interruption begs my heart

and the slogging beasts torture the flow from within

tearing windows in my soul 

Coping out, is the great mover 

and Equations not needed

Our heroine in flux

cheese and crackers tonight

and disease on the rise

with that indiscriminating Force pleading: 

"Change your course and dive like feather

you are under the cover of time

but pain is nukes...

duke em and rule again."

If I please...

but without you I am backwards pointless conundrum bones.

Cadence is illicit art for another time

Where the Smooth rides bitch...

and Soul rides shotgun 

with Heart behind the wheel

A gasp brought upon slowly is mere introspection

and its last laugh lies lazily 

abound the dark sea

clinging to energy for a savior 

and she sparkles when clutched pain free

free like unknown maritime depths 

where Evolution crumbles 

about face to her Truth

which scorns:

"Don't tempt me

in the calmest of moments

I choose the 10th string

and rest also 

with silky blanket

also romantic

a weekender on a country drive."

and the Aliens rejoice

but soon find little proof of gender, race, religion, sex.

Elysium is illicit art for another time

Where the Smooth picks dewy crisp brambles...

and Soul extracts honey from the hive

with Heart guzzling the crystal gulch.

When the monsters attack 

I become shopworn disgusting green goop 

stuck on the preface of communication

Slogging beasts skip my jugular

and Infinity's unborn child is being 

annihilated by my vice